The Very Definition Of Complicated
by elizabitca
Summary: Their relationship has never been simple or easy. Why would sex be any different? Lizzington.
1. Chapter 1

The Very Definition Of Complicated

Disclaimer: I do not own her, or him, or the show. I make no money from this. Ironically I'd actually _pay_ someone money if they let me write for The Blacklist.

Author's Note: Thanks go to Hestia for reading this in fits and spurts as I wrote it over the last month, and a MASSIVE thank you goes to jadenanne7, who very sweetly allowed me to write this first chapter based off of a one-sentence-story she wrote for a Lizzington Shippers Page challenge on Facebook. Her original sentence is included at the bottom of this chapter, and you should DEFINITELY check out her own heart-wrenching expansion of her sentence (Chapter 6 in her Lizzington One Shots-go read!). This story would not have happened were it not for that sentence, so thank you thank you thank you again! Lastly, this is dedicated to my gators and gutterbugs. You're all a ton of fun, and a terrible influence. ;)

Also, this takes place a few weeks after Reddington was shot, in a now thoroughly alternative timeline.

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Chapter 1

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Liz burst through the door to Reddington's current safe house. They hadn't spoken in days, and his honest, information-filled confession after the raid still rang in her ears whenever she was left alone with her thoughts.

"Ah. Lizzie. You got my invitation. Good. I apologize for the somewhat clandestine theatrics involved in getting you this address, but considering what happened after the shooting, I don't trust—"

"I'm still angry," she said by way of a greeting.

"I can tell," Reddington replied, his expression deadpan as he sat in a large armchair across the room from her, dressed in his customary expensive vest and tailored trousers, with rolled up shirtsleeves, no tie, and the corner of a strip of bandage tape peeking out of his slightly unbuttoned shirt.

He'd just been shot in the chest, and the bastard barely looked phased. It really wasn't fair. "Stop being so smug!" She spat the words in his direction, infuriated.

Reddington let his first instinctual response die in his mouth with just a ghost of movement from his lips as he regarded her where she stood. "I'm tired, Lizzie," he admitted instead. "I'm tired of trying to guess what will make you happy, and trying to balance that with keeping you safe. So here's the new deal. I continue to work to protect you. I tell you what I can, and keep from you what you need to _not know_. And you tell me what—exactly—you want our relationship to be. Because I have a feeling that's where we keep tripping up. If we can iron out what you want me to mean to you, I think the information exchanges will…" He considered his words. "…go smoother."

Reddington stood up, taking longer than usual, and Liz could tell he was only half-heartedly using his casual theatrics and mannerisms to mask the carefulness of his movements. He'd been shot; she knew it. She'd watched it happen. There was no sense in expending extra energy trying to hide that fact. "Tell me what you want me to be. If you don't want me to be smug… but you don't want me to keep things from you… and yet you tell me you wish I'd lie to you when I tell you the truth… Tell me what to do, Lizzie, and I'll do it. Like I said… I'm tired, and I'm edging closer to 'desperate' each time you look at me with revulsion and tell me we're done and that you never want to see me again. What do you need me to be? What do you _want_ me to be for you? What part will you _allow_ me to play in your life? Name it…and I'll do it."

Liz shook her head. This was twice in a very short period of time that he'd looked at her with an open, honest expression and beseeched her to believe his admissions. It almost unnerved her. "Don't make offers you don't have any intention of fulfilling. You're not capable of being _any_ thing for me. So don't offer options you're not able to give. _It's rude_ ," she finished ironically in a biting tone.

" _Try me_ ," he said, holding her stare with intense conviction.

Liz narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. "And if I ask for you to be my CI, and nothing more?" she challenged.

"If I'm within arm's reach, and able to offer protection when— _if_ —" he corrected himself quickly, "—if you request it… I would learn to live with that." There was a pause, and his brow creased briefly. "It's not my preference," he added, and blew out a breath. "But I would do it."

Liz uncrossed her arms and placed her hands on her hips before asking slowly, "And what if I wished you'd said yes when I asked if you were my father?"

The longer she'd worked with Reddington, the more frequently she caught his careful mask slipping. There were times that he looked at her with unguarded, infinite sadness and anguish.

She mentally added tonight to the growing list of those times.

He held her gaze, her cold blue eyes angry and cruel, hiding the fact that her mind was so disorganized and panicked that she thought this must be what insanity felt like.

"I care about you; I think that much is obvious by now. And we've established that I would do just about anything to protect you. Those two things can be painted in such a way as to appear… paternal. If you… need it that way." His voice was low, and measured.

"And if I want romance? _Love_? What if I 'want'… _you_ …?" Liz's eyes scanned pointedly down the length of his body and back up to his face, lingering on his mouth. She began taking slow steps toward him.

Reddington's voice was barely above a low whisper. "If that is what you want… I'm sure we could come to some sort of…arrangement…that would work for both parties involved."

Liz, feeling an irrational surge of cruelty, added with doubting scorn in her voice, "Marriage? … _Children_ …?"

"Do you still want those things, Lizzie?" Reddington looked at her with a slightly more level-headed, critical eye, even as his breaths continued at an obviously quicker pace.

She ignored his question.

"What if I just wanted sex? Just wanted to _scratch an itch_ every now and then? And I knew I could go to you for it, because I'd be assured you wouldn't say no?"

"' _Assured'_?" he repeated. "I haven't answered yet. How do you know I'd agree to this one?"

"Because of the way you just looked at me when I mentioned romance and love. What if I just called on you every once in a while. Whenever I felt like I needed to—I don't know—blow off some steam, but I didn't feel like going to the gym? My very own punching bag, a mostly inanimate object I could _use_ and then walk away from? I'd just show up on your doorstep… or call you and make you _show up on mine_ ," she finished fiercely.

She'd advanced across the width of the room, and now stood in front of Reddington. He didn't back away. She took a last step forward, pressing the length of her body against his, and his eyes dropped briefly before righting themselves again. His mouth was open, and she felt his chest expand as he took a deep breath that he was obviously working hard to ensure was silent and controlled.

"What if that's all I asked for?" Liz asked, placing a hand over the left side of his vest, running the flat of it down his chest and abdomen before hooking two fingers under his belt and giving it a punctuating tug, pulling his hips forward into hers. His exhalation was not silent this time, but to his credit, his gaze never wavered from hers.

"Is that _really_ what you want, Lizzie?" he questioned, his voice tight.

"Right now?" She felt an incredible desire for control. Control of something, anything. Dominance. Power. " _Yeah_." Whether it was the truth or not, she believed it, and he could tell.

Her eyes skipped between his, studying his expression and waiting for verbal permission. It was a completely inadvisable move for both of them, but she thought she needed it, and all he wanted was to give her what was within his power to grant her. And this he could do.

He gave a sharp nod. "I already told you… whatever you need."

Without preamble, and without dropping her challenging stare, she moved her hand immediately to cup him through his expensive trousers, eliciting a sharp exhale and a twitch just under his left eye. Her left hand found his belt buckle and had it undone in what Reddington felt was a disconcertingly expedient amount of time, his zipper lowered and her right hand suddenly no longer safely on the other side of the layers of fabric.

He hissed through his teeth, and reached up to cup her face with both hands, angling it upwards toward him while he dipped his mouth toward hers.

She tossed her head, maneuvering it out of his grasp and causing his lips to miss hers, his attempted kiss lost somewhere in the empty space between his face and hers. Reddington's hands froze in midair, and while her right hand continued to move on him without pause, he moved to replace his palms on the sides of her head. Looking at him squarely, she gave a short, prohibitive movement backward with her head, warning him not to try to kiss her again. He nodded, and raised his eyebrows questioningly, motioning slightly with his hands. _Please let me touch you, at least…?_

After a moment of consideration—if she allowed him to touch her face, it would keep her from having to bat his hands away from other parts of her anatomy, because she had _no_ intention of this being anything but a one-sided operation tonight—Liz gave a single, quick nod, and Red smoothed his palms down the sides of her hair, coming to rest on either side of her neck.

Liz began to take slow, careful steps forward, easing Reddington back with each one. She angled them around the chair, and toward the closest wall.

Reddington's eyes never left hers. If Liz hadn't been so intent on what she thought she was gaining from this, she would have noticed the disappointment hidden behind the defiance and desire twisting his face.

She gave a final shove with the heel of her free palm just to the right of his sternum, forcing him firmly into the wall at his back, and she heard him give a low grunt. His eyes closed for a moment, and he swallowed harshly, turning his head to the side briefly before swinging his gaze back around to hers, level and uncomplaining. Liz felt a flash of guilt: she'd momentarily forgotten about his injury, and she hadn't wanted to hurt him.

…physically.

She moved her hand faster, reveling in the somewhat perverse pleasure she obtained from the low, harsh noises she was learning to extract from Reddington. At one point he dropped his right hand a few inches, smoothing his thumb over her collarbone, and she used her free hand to sharply and definitively raise his elbow until his palm rested at the level of her neck again, and he nodded, his eyes closing and his jaw clenching, as he again smoothed his hand over her hair and resigned himself with cupping her face.

A minute later and his body was tensing, his breaths coming fast and short. He leaned his forehead forward on hers, careful not to repeat the angle she might mistake as another attempt at a kiss. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, and he tilted his face down and away from hers without ever breaking contact between their foreheads, his temple pressed against the center of her brow. His hands grasped desperately but not harshly, his fingers threading through the hair on either side of her head. She could feel the tension in his fingers, but he never pulled, or pushed, or claimed the way she could tell he wanted to.

A small part of her was touched.

And impressed.

It was foolish of her to think this would solve anything, and it was equally as foolish of him to think this was a meaningful substitute for what he really wanted. Despite being pinned against the wall, he felt unbalanced as she stroked him to completion, and he would have staggered if she hadn't pressed her left side firmly against his body to steady him. He managed—just barely—not to say her name.

Even as the thrill of satisfaction warmed through his body, Reddington wasn't able to shake the great heaviness of the lack of intimacy just shared between them despite it being such an intimate act. He refused to open his eyes, but swung his face back to center, holding his hands steady, his fingers still laced through Liz's hair. He stood without complaint or reproach as he heard his zipper, and felt her replace his belt neatly.

Liz gently gripped Reddington's wrists and pulled his hands slowly from her, and as she stepped back, he lowered them to brace himself against the wall.

Suddenly terrified, and torn between three different, simultaneous desires, Liz stopped trying to decide which was 'best' and flung herself toward 'easiest', swallowing hard, spinning on her heels, and walking toward the door.

But before she cleared the threshold, she froze, and turned slightly.

"Are you okay?" she asked quietly, turning her head over her shoulder toward where he still stood.

"I'm healing from a gunshot wound, Lizzie. It's a process."

"That's not what I m—"

"I know it's not," he interrupted, not looking at her.

"Are you okay," she repeated slowly, with a noted hint of kindness, and a healthy dose of worry in her voice this time.

Reddington looked up at where Liz stood in the door, one foot in the room, one foot already in the hallway beyond. "Yes. I'm fine."

Liz nodded and stepped out the door, pulling it shut behind her.

Reddington stared across the room at where she'd stood before adding to the empty room, "I'm whatever you need me to be."

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To be continued...

Big round of applause for the AMAZING jadenanne7 and her incredible One Sentence Story that inspired this! Here is her original:

 _Prompt: Foolish.  
It was foolish to think it wouldn't come to this...him backed against the wall, trembling as she strokes him to a staggering completion...not wanting it to happen quite this way...feeling the great heaviness of the lack of intimacy in such an intimate act; but he gives her anything she wants without complaint or reproach, going so far as to hide the tears as she simply zips him back up and walks away._

Again, you've GOT TO look up her version of this and read it, if you haven't already; it's Chapter 6 in her collection titled "Lizzington One-Shots".

Thank you again, _so much_ , darling! Thank you for the incredible inspiration! You rock my socks off. :)


	2. Chapter 2

The Very Definition Of Complicated

Disclaimer: I do not own her, or him, or the show. I make no money from this.

Author's Note: This was supposed to be a one-shot, and then when Hestia read the first chapter, she said something to the effect of, "Okay, so this is just the start of a steamy affair between them, right? You're writing another chapter. There's more. ...Right?" So…here's the 'more'. :)

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Chapter 2

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Sitting on an expensive couch in his newest borrowed residence, Reddington stared at the large, custom-built wall of heavy wood bookshelves in front of him and wondered how many of the leather-bound volumes had been read or referenced by the owner of the house, and how many had been bought simply for the aesthetic. He decided he didn't care.

On the small end table beside him, his phone began to buzz.

Reddington picked up his phone, fixed a smile on his face, and answered cheerfully, "Lizzie! What can I do for you?"

There was a pause before her voice came over the line, low and serious. "…funny you should choose that phrasing."

Reddington's careful smile vanished as he did the mental math. It had been almost six weeks, and neither had spoken about it. He thought he'd done an excellent job of maintaining his customary business-as-usual mix of flamboyance, disrespect of authority, and occasional scary severity while continuing to work with the task force on cases, and while he could tell Liz had been uncomfortable for a week or so afterward, she'd snapped back to her usual, only _slightly_ sour temperament relatively quickly after that.

He wasn't sure what he'd expected to happen. Additional encounters, following closely on the heels of the first? A refusal to work with him? Her arriving, tearful, on his doorstep, apologizing and claiming she'd made a mistake?

More than a month and three Blacklisters later, and none of the above had happened. A more melodramatic man might have started to doubt the encounter had ever occurred, but Reddington held fiercely to the fact that it had been real. He had become adept at editing the scene in his mind, imagining her touch had meant more, and concentrating on how her face had felt, cupped in his hands.

Reddington proceeded cautiously, choosing his words carefully. "Lizzie, based on your complete avoidance of certain subjects over the last six weeks, I hesitate to ask with any specificity what it is you're looking for from me tonight. I'm going to do my best not to assume anything, but you should probably clarify what—"

"Where are you?" she interrupted.

"I'm at what passes for my home this week."

"Give me an address."

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Reddington met her at the front door, his shirtsleeves rolled up, tie missing but vest still in place, and glass of scotch in hand. Liz didn't bother to wait to be invited in, and pushed past him into the foyer as soon as he opened the door.

Liz looked him up and down somewhat suspiciously. "Where's Dembe? You don't usually answer your own door."

"After your phone call I asked him to run a few errands for me," Reddington answered smoothly.

"Errands?" she repeated, some of her stoicism lifting to be replaced by a note of disbelief. "This late in the evening?"

"It's hardly the strangest order I've ever given him. The sum total of my requests over the years have secured my reputation with the man as a fairly mercurial eccentric. I have to work hard these days to get him to even bat an eye."

"And he'll be gone until…?"

"…I tell him to come back," Reddington answered, his voice low.

Liz narrowed her eyes and studied Reddington's face for a moment before nodding. She looked up and down the hallways that extended in either direction off the foyer where they stood. Immediately in front of her was a large, open, high glass-ceilinged room with no furniture, just plants and tiles that looked like it led directly to the pool and patio she assumed a residence like this would have.

Reddington watched Liz carefully as she took in the immediately visible layout of the house. "Are you looking for a couch? Or a bed?" Reddington took a sip of his scotch, regarding her over the top of his glass as her eyes flicked quickly to his face. "Or perhaps just another _wall_?" he added bluntly.

"The kitchen, actually," Liz said, looking at him evenly.

Reddington cocked an eyebrow and gestured with his scotch glass down the hallway to her left. She set off in that direction without looking back.

By the time Reddington joined her in the modern, black and white tiled kitchen, she had already found and pulled the one remaining chocolate mousse from the refrigerator, and was opening drawers in search of a spoon.

"To your right," Reddington instructed. Liz found the correct drawer, grabbed a spoon, and picked up the dessert, bumping the drawer closed with her hip. She took an initial bite, and licked the spoon after she swallowed, not looking at Reddington.

"How do you know someone wasn't saving that?" he asked.

"Were you saving this?" she asked, still not looking at him.

"No."

Liz nodded, taking another bite. She took a moment to look around the kitchen, which was quite large, with dark marble counter tops. She was standing at a massive center island, and found herself wondering again what kind of garden or pool area was hidden by the late hour behind the house: the wall across from her was made up of floor-to-ceiling windows, but the dark night beyond them caused the glass to turn into a surface that merely reflected her own image back at her.

Liz bent forward, leaning her weight on her elbows on the cold counter top. "I've been thinking…" She took another bite of the mousse. "Things were awfully one-sided last time," she said around her mouthful. "Not exactly… 'fair'."

"The way you outlined what you were looking for at the time didn't make it seem like 'fairness' was something you found necessary in the arrangement," Reddington replied, making his way into the kitchen to place his now empty glass in the deep sink just to Liz's right. He leaned casually against the counter next to her, studying her. "Is that what you're here for tonight? Repayment?"

Liz took another bite of the chocolate. "Come on, Reddington. Don't tell me you've never arrived at someone's house late at night with little-to-no warning in order to collect on a debt." She paused to look up at Reddington, a very slight note of a challenge in her otherwise stoic expression.

Reddington didn't move for a long moment. He let his eyes wander over Liz's form, elbows on the marble surface in front of her, bent at the waist, weight shifted to one foot. Very slowly, he made his way around until he stood directly behind her, and as she took another bite of the mousse, he placed the flat of his palm under her torso and pulled her upright, taking a single step forward to bring her closer again to the edge of the counter.

They stood, staring at their reflection in the glass in front of them, his face just over her right shoulder, his hand still flat across her abdomen, bracing her back against him. Reddington's fingers moved slightly, dropped just an inch, and stilled. Liz didn't move to correct him, and didn't speak. Slowly, he eased his hand down until his fingers brushed the top of her pants, and stopped again, still staring at her reflection in the window. She said nothing, but Reddington was acutely aware of how fast her breaths were coming, the muscles of her abdomen tensing under his hand.

His other hand joined the first at her waist, and paused—waiting again for an objection that didn't come—before popping open the top button of her pants.

As if to underscore how little sentimentality she had for the events occurring, Liz reached forward and picked up the mousse, spooning another bite into her mouth.

Reddington didn't wait for her to swallow before dropping his right hand lower under the edge of her pants, stretching his fingers down.

The sound of the glass dish holding the remaining mousse clattering against the marble as Liz roughly set it down echoed in the quiet kitchen. She didn't drop the spoon, but wrapped it tightly in the fist she pressed into the counter surface, while her left hand clutched at the rounded edge. Reddington watched her reflection in the dark window in front of them as she bit down on her lip and closed her eyes. She didn't make a sound.

"It's been six weeks," Reddington whispered in her ear, using his left hand to grip her hip, holding her steady against him. "You haven't mentioned what happened. Not once. So why now? Why today?"

"I don't know… I guess I just didn't feel like—" her breath caught, and she pushed back into him. "—going to the gym."

"Have some stress to work off, hmm? Bad day?" he breathed in her ear.

"Today was fine," Liz ground out, gripping the counter harder.

"But three years ago….that was a bad day?"

Liz opened her eyes and found him still staring intently at her in the window's reflection. She glared back. "I didn't come here to talk about Tom," she said, her breath hitching. Of course he knew what today was.

"But that _is_ why you're here," Reddington continued. "You want to mark this date with something else. Give it a different flavor, a different color. So next year you can remember _this_ —chocolate mousse and my hand in this kitchen, instead of white cake, champagne, and your husband."

Liz braced a palm flat on the marble counter in front of her and arched her back as she closed her eyes again. "There's a knife block within reach, Reddington. I suggest you _stop talking_."

Reddington pushed forward and adjusted his hand, and was rewarded with an audible gasp and what he thought would have been a whimper if she hadn't so stubbornly clamped down on it. Her fingers scratched for purchase on the smooth edge of the counter, and she turned her head to the right, her forehead brushing against his cheek. She opened her eyes and looked up to find him staring down at her with such intensity that even though his hand movements didn't change, she inexplicably felt them more powerfully, and a twisting ache she hadn't felt before shot through her chest.

Neither one looked away for a long moment, their eyes locked as she panted and twisted in his arms, but Reddington blinked first, finally dropping his eyes to her lips with a sharp, quick exhalation, and Liz immediately turned her face away, her gaze falling to the marble expanse to her left, her brow furrowed.

"He never deserved you, Lizzie; even the man he pretended to be didn't deserve you. And now he doesn't deserve a _single second_ of your concentration or concern, _ever again_. The best revenge in a situation like this is to _continue_ , with the knowledge that the loss of him in your life was _not a loss_ , and show him that your life is _unquestionably_ improved by his absence—"

"Reddington, I swear to God, if you don't shut up—"

Liz's voice cut off abruptly and Reddington heard the dropped spoon clatter across the marble counter top as she splayed both palms flat on the surface in front of her. Her knees bent, giving out underneath her, but Reddington wound his left arm around her waist, pulling her back against him tightly. She arched, and her head dropped back onto his shoulder.

Reddington was torn. Half of him wanted to close his eyes and just commit the feel of her shaking in his arms to memory. The other half—the half that won—couldn't tear his eyes away from their reflection in the window in front of him: the way her chest rose and fell with each huffed breath, and the way her brow creased and her eyebrows worried together almost as if she were in pain. Almost the way she looked when she cried.

Liz didn't make a sound, save for the noise of her breaths, which were still coming hard and fast, and while she was aware of the fact that Reddington was supporting almost her entire weight, she couldn't bring herself to care. His left arm held her tightly, and even through her haze she could tell his breaths were almost as ragged as hers. After a long minute, once she'd come back down from her momentary high, she finally got her feet back under her. Biting her bottom lip, she slipped out of Reddington's embrace and took several steps away down the length of the counter, her back to him.

"Lizzie…?" Reddington asked quietly after a long silence.

She shook her head, and turned to look at him. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I'm—" she broke off, and swallowed, her eyes skipping around the room, lighting on everything but him. She shook her head again, and turned to leave.

"Lizzie, I need to know you're okay before you go get behind the wheel of a car," Reddington's voice followed her down the hallway as she made her way toward the entrance of the house. She pulled open the ornate door and walked swiftly down the steps toward her car, ignoring the sound of her name as Reddington sternly called after her again from the doorstep.

As she started the engine and pulled out of the driveway, Reddington removed his phone from his pocket and dialed. Holding it to his ear, he waited. "Are you near?" he asked when Dembe answered. "Drop what you're doing. Agent Keen just left; please confirm she gets home safely." Reddington moved to end the call, but paused first to add, "From a distance. If at all possible." He watched the red of her taillights disappear through the gate, counted to ten, and turned back inside.

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M again. Am I still doing it right…? This is my first attempt at this rating, so please let me know how I'm doing.


	3. Chapter 3

The Very Definition Of Complicated

Disclaimer: I do not own her, or him, or the show. I make no money from this.

Author's Note: I have a plan this time! I'm not just writing whatever pops into my head next! This is a big step for me. ;) I've got 5-6 chapters all planned out. There are notes and bullet points and everything. I feel very adult about this. It's weird. (Despite the fact that I *am* an actual adult.) - - - - This was written when I actually wrote this chapter several weeks ago. Keep reading the a/n at the start of chapters to see how things actually ended up. ;)

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Chapter 3

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Dembe let Liz into Red's hotel suite before excusing himself, stating he would be in his room if they needed him, and left the two of them alone.

"Why did you refuse to give us a name at the office today?" Liz asked, crossing her arms over her chest. " _I want a name_."

"Lizzie, I'm trying to give you what you _need_ , not what you _ask for_." Reddington folded the newspaper he was reading and placed it on the table in front of him, leaning forward briefly from his position on the couch to do so before he settled back again into the deep cushions.

"I _need_ a name. We're stalled—we need the next step in this puzzle, and one of the names on that client list has information. You know which one is the most likely. So stop being so stubborn, and just _help_ for once," Liz demanded.

"As I told you this afternoon, and as I will tell you again now, the list you have is a waste of your time; you're getting bogged down in the minutiae, and if I—"

Red stopped talking as Liz peeled off her jacket and tossed it challengingly on a nearby chair. "The main reason I came here tonight was for information, Reddington," she said, walking slowly toward where Red sat.

"'The _main_ reason'," he repeated, watching her progress across the room. "So am I to assume there's a secondary purpose to this visit as well?"

Liz began to unbutton her blouse, revealing a tight white tank underneath. The blouse was discarded in the same fashion as her jacket had been. Reddington uncrossed his legs as Liz approached.

"I'm not leaving without the information I want," she said, coming to a stop between his knees and looking down at him with resolve. Reddington said nothing, his face a mask.

Liz reached out and grabbed Reddington's tie, pulling it from beneath his vest and gently tugging him forward by it until he leaned toward her enough that she had him comfortably within reach. She slowly worked the knot loose, and pulled his tie free, tossing it to the side as she quietly, but matter-of-factly, said, "After the last time, I made up my mind not to do this again."

"Really? And why is that?" Reddington asked, tilting his head to one side as he looked up at her.

"Because I don't actually think this is fair to either one of us. Or necessarily healthy."

"As I've said before, I didn't think 'fair' was something you were shooting for with this arrangement, and as for 'healthy'… well—" Reddington cocked an eyebrow. "—it's always good to get the blood pumping, isn't it?"

Liz let her eyes rove over Reddington's face, drop to his shoulders, and slide down his arms to where he had his hands resting on his thighs. She bit her lip, and didn't respond to his rhetorical question.

Reddington studied her silence for a moment before continuing in a less jovial tone, "That said… if this is something you regret each time, then no: we shouldn't keep doing this."

Liz's eyes snapped back up to his, and she gave him a withering look mixed with a touch of anger. "I'm not an impressionable coed under the spell of her professor," she said, narrowing her eyes. "I may not have my life completely in the order I'd like at this particular moment in time, but don't paint me as some teenager who has sex because she's bored and doesn't understand the consequences."

"I think you're dismissing the coed/professor scenario a little quickly, Lizzie, that sounds like it could actually be quite a bit of f—"

Liz leaned forward, placing a knee deep on the couch, next to Reddington's hip. Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she brought her other knee up on to the couch on the other side of him, and he unconsciously lifted his hands into the air, drawing his shoulders back, as if he didn't have permission to touch her yet, despite _her_ being the one to climb into _his_ lap.

"Tell me who to talk to, Reddington," Liz instructed, splaying her knees a bit wider to settle herself more firmly in his lap.

Reddington's jaw worked, and he pursed his lips. "No."

Liz took one of Reddington's hands in both of hers, and without breaking eye contact with him, lifted the hem of her shirt to place his palm against her side, high under the fabric. "I want a name," she said.

"While I'm not in _any way_ complaining about…this behavior…" Reddington motioned with his free hand, indicating the woman in his lap. "…what you're currently doing will not loosen my lips on the subject of that list, Lizzie," Reddington said, his voice low.

Liz leaned forward, placing her mouth at Reddington's ear as his other hand found her waist; it too slipped under the tank to smooth across her skin. "Give me a name," she breathed.

Reddington made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat. "I'm not—"

"A _name_ ," she demanded in a firm whisper, rolling her hips.

Reddington dropped his hands from her ribs to her hips to still them. " _Stop asking me for a name_ ," he said, his voice tight.

"Why?" she asked, still at his ear.

"You're not going to get the answer you want at this particular moment," Red warned.

"Mmm. And why not?" Liz pulled back, running her hands up over his shoulders, smoothing them along the sides of his neck, and stretching her fingers to scratch lightly at the short hair at the back of his head.

Reddington's eyes slipped closed, his brow slightly worried. "Because…right now? The only name I can think of is ' _Elizabeth Keen'_."

Liz pushed backwards, and slid off of Reddington's lap to sit on the coffee table directly behind her. She crossed her legs and leaned back on her hands, tilting her head to watch the man in front of her as he sighed in frustration and opened his eyes.

"I signed up to be used for sex; I don't remember agreeing to torture."

"I'm sure you've been through worse; this isn't that bad," Liz replied mildly.

"I'm sure you don't understand how I feel about you; this _is_ that bad," Reddington fired back evenly.

Liz narrowed her eyes. "See, now that tip-toes us close to something other than…what you 'signed up for'." She paused before adding, "Don't do that."

Reddington leaned forward and grabbed one of Liz's ankles, pulling her foot up into his lap, where he quickly unlaced the utilitarian boot she'd made a staple in her wardrobe of late. "What are you doing?" Liz asked, frowning at his methodical actions as he replaced her foot on the floor and tossed her boot to the side of the couch.

Reddington grasped her other boot and set to work on it, tugging it from her foot and placing it next to the first on the floor before answering, "It's typically easier to take your pants off if your shoes have already been removed."

Liz opened her mouth to reply, but it took her a moment too long to formulate an answer, and Reddington tilted his head and stared at her evenly, as if to confirm he wasn't backing down from today's particular game of 'Chicken'.

"Who says my pants are coming off tonight?" Liz asked, standing and walking around the back of the couch to the dining table, which stood in front of an impressive marble fireplace. She was aware that the distance she'd just put between Reddington and herself meant he'd won that round. She grabbed the decanter in the center of the table and one of the four tumblers that surrounded it on a decorative silver tray, splashing a small amount into the glass. She swallowed the one mouthful she'd poured, and picked up the decanter again to refill. Without looking back at Reddington, she asked, "You're not drinking tonight?"

"You should probably put that down." Reddington's voice was low, and close, and Liz didn't have time to turn around before his hands circled her waist.

"Really? Why is that?" Liz asked argumentatively, even as she obediently replaced the decanter on the silver tray.

Reddington had the clasp of her pants undone before she realized his hands had moved, and his right slid down under the fabric as he murmured in her ear, "Because I learned what you like last time."

He wasn't wrong. Liz drew in a shuddering breath and immediately laid her head back on Reddington's shoulder behind her, biting her lip to keep from making any noise.

"You've been very quiet; every time," Reddington noted, his lips at her ear. "Don't hold back on my account."

"You make a lot of assumptions about me, Reddington," Liz breathed, her eyes closed. She'd moved her right hand to grab his wrist, holding it in place, as if she thought he planned on removing it from its current position sometime soon. "How do you know that I'm—" Liz gasped as he adjusted his movements. "—a vocal person in these type of situations?"

Reddington lifted his left hand and laid it gently around the front of Liz's neck, her chin still high with her head thrown back on his shoulder. Liz thought absently that she should probably be more concerned that one of the FBI's Ten Most Wanted had his hand wrapped around her throat, but she found that his right hand made it difficult to care about what his left was doing. He ghosted his hand up the length of her neck to her chin, and used his thumb to pull down on her lower lip, freeing it from between her teeth.

"You're biting your lip quite a bit. That's not one of your usual habits—you're trying to stay silent." His thumb ran across her lip again, and his voice dropped. " _Don't_."

Liz shuddered and let out a ragged breath before she angled her head forward, enveloping Red's thumb in her mouth, causing him to make a short, swallowed noise midway between a moan and a whine.

The noise was ultimately what did it. Liz yanked back on the wrist she had her hand around, and spun to face him, suddenly desperate for more contact. She shoved her pants down over her hips, stepping on them to remove them completely as she reached forward for Reddington's belt. When she fumbled with it, he pushed her hands away and took care of the belt, button, and zipper himself as Liz scooted back onto the edge of the table. She reached forward immediately, grabbing Reddington by the shirt collar on either side, and dragged him forward to stand between her legs. He wasted no time, and pushed forward into her. She drew in a quick breath, her hands moving from his collar up to either side of his face.

They both stilled, their eyes locked, the sudden lack of movement in sharp contrast to their frantic scramble a second before to arrive in the position they now found themselves. Reddington thought Liz looked almost surprised, her eyes wide, her lips slightly parted, though no air passed between them as she held the breath she'd drawn in.

Reddington began to move, but Liz's hands tightened, one moving around to the back of his neck, and she shook her head, whispering, "Stay! Please, just… stay… just…" Words failed her, and she raised her eyebrows slightly, pleading with him to understand. Reddington nodded dutifully, his fingers digging into her hips where he held her to him.

After a long moment, just when Reddington thought he was about to go mad, Liz closed her eyes briefly and gave a small nod, flexing her hips slightly in encouragement. She wrapped her legs around him as he began to move.

They held each other's gaze, moving against each other slowly. Liz had never been one to keep her eyes open during this type of activity; she'd always preferred the lights out, or her eyes closed or directed, unfocused, at the ceiling or somewhere equally unimportant. It wasn't that she didn't want to see who she was with, she'd just felt that staring your partner down during sex was a little too aggressive, and not at all romantic. But now, this—looking unflinchingly into Reddington's eyes, aware of how his brow furrowed as he thrust forward, seeing the different ways his face twisted with desire, watching as his lips pulled back over his teeth as he hissed—was one of the most powerfully erotic things Liz had ever experienced.

Reddington leaned forward, just barely, bringing his face closer to hers. When she didn't look away or object, he dropped his gaze to her lips, and she unconsciously licked them, biting her bottom lip briefly. His intent was clear, and Liz suddenly felt a swell of simultaneous panic and desire. She felt drunk, like her decisions couldn't be trusted in the current haze of their fervor, and she had serious doubts when it came to her initial instinct to pull him to her and close the gap between their lips.

She wasn't thinking clearly. This wasn't a decision she should make right now.

She'd distanced herself so well the first night. He'd barely touched her, and she'd made it clear it wasn't personal. She'd been in control the whole time.

And while he definitely touched her the second time, it was after her unspoken but very obvious invitation—a silent _instruction_ , even—and had again been on her terms, for her purpose. He'd gotten nothing that night. While her flight from the premises could have been handled in a more dignified fashion, she'd still been in control of the events.

Tonight had very quickly spiraled _way_ out of control.

Liz let her eyes slip closed and she felt his breath on her lips, his nose brushing hers. His right hand moved from her hip to the middle of her back, applying pressure to arch her into him, before he moved it to the back of her head, steadying her for a kiss as he angled his head to one side.

"No." The word ripped from her mouth just as his lips brushed hers, and Liz pulled back, catching at his forearm and tugging his hand away from her head. With her eyes still closed, she missed the anguished wince Reddington gave at her word.

"May I ask why not?" he inquired, his voice quiet and tight as he stilled his movements, placing his admonished hand flat on the table next to Liz's hip.

"It'll complicate things," she panted, opening her eyes and focusing her gaze over his left shoulder at nothing in particular.

"Sorry, sweetheart, but this," he said, raising an eyebrow, "is already complicated."

"I don't want complicated," she said desperately, applying pressure with her heels, indicating she was displeased with the sudden lack of movement. Reddington didn't move. "Tom was complicated. I want _simple_." She moved her hips, again trying to coax Reddington back into motion. Still nothing. She pulled back and fixed him with an impatient glare. "But you're shaping up to be just as bad as my ex-husband," she finished in a frustrated voice.

Reddington's jaw clenched, and she noticed his left eye twitch. After a moment, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers, his brow furrowed. "Lizzie…" he murmured, shaking his head gently, "if you can't say something nice… for God's sake… don't say anything at all."

"You asked me—"

"And now I see the error in that decision, so please… do us both a favor and _stop talking_ so I can close my eyes and pretend you just said something _kind_ to me instead."

Liz immediately felt a flash of regret, and took a breath, ready to respond, but Reddington moved a hand up to cover her mouth. "I said _stop talking_ ," he ground out, moving faster. After a moment he released her mouth, dropping his hand between their bodies, and she grasped at his shirt, unable to continue thinking logically about what she'd just said.

Several minutes later, Reddington had Liz gasping and clutching at his shoulders, and she squeezed her eyes shut as she shuddered in his arms. He held her tightly to him, and finished fast after her, his left arm wrapped around her waist, his right hand tangled in her hair.

Liz almost thought she heard her name on one of his short, harsh exhalations, but dismissed it when he pulled away from her quickly, leaving her to slide off the table and pull on the discarded clothing at her feet.

He'd only moved a few feet away, but had kept his back to her. She moved slowly to the couch, where she leaned down to shove her feet into her boots. Once she finished replacing her second shoe, she straightened and crossed back to Reddington, who had turned to face the table again, and was now pouring additional alcohol into Liz's abandoned tumbler. She reached out and gently pinched the fabric of the back of his vest and gave it a light tug. When he didn't turn or respond to her, she asked hesitantly, "What do you wish I'd said? Reddington? What… 'kind thing'… did you imagine me saying to you?" No response. "Do you wish I'd said this meant something to me?" Liz prompted. "That I want more? That I trust you?"

"Lizzie—" Reddington warned.

"That I love you?" Liz pushed.

Reddington look over his shoulder at her and gave her a stern, cold look. " _Don't_."

"You're mad at me," she said, thinking again how badly tonight had gone off the rails.

"No. I'm not mad. I'm furious." Reddington swallowed a mouthful of his scotch, and peered down at the level that was left in his glass. "But not with you." He paused another moment before continuing, "Over the last two years I've often found myself thinking of the story of the disfigured man who lived beneath the opera house in Paris. Watching the young singer—helping her… pushing her toward what she needed to know, pushing her to succeed. His all-consuming love for his muse makes him a sympathetic character in the context of the story, but…" Reddington put the glass down and turned to face Liz, leaning back against the table. "…I never thought he had any right to touch her."

"Reddington, you're not—"

"A murderer? Existing in self-imposed near-solitude? Living off of ill-gotten money; surrounding himself with finery? Scarred and… disfigured?" Reddington tilted his head to one side and gave Liz a miserable smile that came off as more of a grimace. "I think the description is quite fitting."

Liz opened her mouth, scrambling for a rebuttal, but Reddington cut her off, turning back to his drink. Without looking at her, he commanded softly, "Go home, Lizzie."

"Red—"

He swallowed his sip of scotch. "Go home. And think about finding someone less like your ex-husband to do this with next time." Refilling his glass, and still without so much as a glance in her direction, Reddington moved around the table to the bedroom and closed the large door behind him.

Liz waited a full minute, frozen in place, before turning toward the exit, scooping up her blouse and blazer on the way.

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TBC.

I wrote this basically because… I've read so many fics where they're both so happy to have sex, like it fixes things immediately, and they realize they've been wrong, and everything is glorious. I wanted to see a story where sex didn't fix their relationship. Because nothing—not near-death experiences, or extravagant gifts, or declarations of 'caring'—seemed to fix their relationship this past season.


	4. Chapter 4

The Very Definition Of Complicated

Disclaimer: I do not own her, or him, or the show. I make no money from this.

Author's Note: This chapter was supposed to...well, I don't want to give away spoilers, but… *sighs* The lovely idiots didn't follow my outline. They completely disregarded the bullet points. They, in fact, SHAT all over my fic schedule. I sat down to write what I'D PLANNED TO WRITE, and the characters just started doing something _completely different_. So... this is what happens instead. ::muttering as she walks away:: ...so unprofessional...

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Chapter 4

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They barely looked at each other during the brief periods of time when they were both at the office over the next few days. Reddington called in information over the phone more than usual, and when he was physically present he spoke to Aram, Samar, and Cooper. Liz, for her part, set about routinely avoiding Ressler's questions regarding what was going on, and she even handed her phone off to him at one point when Nick's Pizza called, only to have her partner pass the phone back, saying the line went dead when he answered.

After five days, there was a knock at her motel room door. It was 10am on a Saturday, and Liz had no plans to do anything involving work, any kind of responsibility, or even necessitating a shower. In the bathroom, brushing her teeth, she ignored the knocking, and after a moment, when her phone vibrated on the edge of the sink next to her, she glanced down to confirm it was Nick's Pizza calling, but ended the call without picking up, and before it could go to voicemail.

Three minutes later, having spat, rinsed, and pulled her hair back into a ponytail, she opened the bathroom door and entered the main living space to find Reddington sitting nonchalantly in the chair across from her bed, his hat lying on the table next to him.

"I had the door locked and the chain latched," Liz said. Reddington didn't respond. She sighed. "We need to have a talk about the phrases 'invasion of privacy' and 'breaking and entering'," she said, walking calmly into the room and sitting down on the bed. She was wearing only her sleep shirt and underwear, but refused to give Reddington the satisfaction of letting him know she was at all uncomfortable with the situation.

He looked her up and down, but made no comment on her appearance. "If we're going to continue functioning together professionally, we need to have a talk."

"This couldn't have been done over the phone?"

"It could have if you had been willing to answer my calls."

Liz gave a half-hearted roll of her eyes and motioned at her unwanted guest. "So talk."

Reddington nodded. "The first night you came to me, the night… _this_ …started, I told you that you needed to make a choice and define what kind of personal relationship the two of us would have from that point forward. You ran through several scenarios, and—in what I can only assume was a desperate attempt to regain a modicum of control in your life at the time—threw me up against a wall."

"I was there; I remember," Liz said somewhat icily. She knew her tone was rude, but she was determined not to let Reddington see any amount of emotion that could be construed as weakness or embarrassment regarding her actions that night.

"Six weeks later you needed a palate cleanser to try to erase the association of a fraudulent—and ultimately _failed_ —marriage from the date of your wedding anniversary."

"Again, my memory is fine, Reddington. Do you think you also need to remind me what happened five days ago?"

"My point, Elizabeth, is that initially you needed to feel in control. And then you needed a distraction. And this week was an attempt at gaining information." Reddington sighed and tilted his head, regarding her carefully. "You could have just as easily held a gun to my head or broken my nose on any of those three occasions and achieved the same desired result."

"My methods didn't get me tossed in the trunk of your car by Dembe," Liz pointed out. "I get the feeling people who break your nose don't walk away from that unscathed."

"You stabbed me in the neck once with a pen. Did you incur any retribution?" Red countered immediately.

Liz opened her mouth, mentally scrambled for a retort, and finally managed, "You hadn't brought Dembe on as security at that point…" When Reddington raised an eyebrow at her, she winced and nodded, silently admitting her argument was a feeble one.

Reddington cleared his throat and shifted in his chair, appearing vaguely uncomfortable and fairly conflicted about what he was about to say before he continued, "I'm more than aware that a sexual relationship with me doesn't benefit you. Not only is it completely inadvisable in terms of your career, but you don't gain anything _personally_ , either, outside of whatever emotional sugar rush you experience during the moments themselves." Reddington shook his head. "If you were looking to date someone and settle down, I would not be one of your choices. If you were looking to have an affair with no strings attached, I would not be one of your choices. If you were looking for a friend to simply spend time with, _I would not be one of your choices_." Reddington sat forward, leaning his elbows on his knees. "If you had _any other available options_ , the things we've done over the last few weeks would not have happened."

"Wow. You really know how to make a woman feel good about herself," Liz deadpanned.

"I'm not saying this to try to hurt you, Lizzie," Reddington said gently. "I'm trying to explain that I think you made the wrong choice, based on limited options."

"You told me 'whatever you need'," Liz reminded him.

" _This_ is not what you need, Lizzie," he said, shaking his head.

Liz crossed her arms, mistaking his tone for condescension. "Well, since you're the expert that has molded and guided all my major life choices up to this point so successfully, I suppose it's only appropriate for you to dictate the terms of our working relationship from this point forward, too. I _knew_ when I was finally given the chance to make a decision myself it would only be a matter of time before whatever choice I made was deemed incorrect or invalid. So what'll it be now?"

"Lizzie," Reddington began.

"No, no 'Lizzie.' If we're going back to the original four choices, and our current arrangement has been taken off the table, that leaves us with—number one—a father-daughter relationship, which, I'm sorry—" Liz gave a harsh, short laugh, interrupting herself. "I feel like that ship sailed when I had to wash you off my hands before driving home that first night." Liz felt a small flare of triumph at getting a reaction from Reddington as she watched his jaw clench. "Then there's number two—some kind of a romantic relationship, which…I'm betting if 'just sex' is being outlawed, 'romance' is not available, either. Which brings us to number three—a purely professional, confidential-informant-and-source-style arrangement. And if that's the case, you don't call me 'Lizzie'. You call me 'Agent Keen'." Liz's voice dropped, dripping with the sting of rejection, and her eyes were angry as she glared across the room at Reddington.

After a long moment of silence, Liz stood up. "And CIs don't generally get to hang out with me while I'm half naked in my bedroom on the weekends." She nodded toward the door. "So you're going to need to leave."

Reddington, his eyes cast down at the fedora on the table next to him, nodded, and pushed himself up from his chair, palming the hat onto his head. Liz preceded him to the door, but before she unlatched the locks, she turned back to face him, her voice low and insistent. "And one more thing. Don't _ever_ assume you know the level of value I assign to things in my life. Don't tell me what matters to me and what doesn't. Don't assume you understand the motivations behind my actions." Liz took another step toward Reddington, causing him to straighten slightly, caught off-guard by the bitterness in her voice as she continued, "And don't you _ever_ compare what we did to me holding a gun to your head. If you _ever_ make that comparison again, I will break more than just your nose."

Reddington swallowed. "Oh, Lizzie, no," he breathed apologetically, "that's not how I—"

"And if you call me 'Lizzie' one more time," she warned, her eyes dropping to his mouth, "you'd better be prepared to stay here and start taking off some clothes. Otherwise you need to tell me 'Good day, Agent Keen' _right now_ , and _leave_."

Frustration and anger flashed across Reddington's face. "I talk, and you just _refuse_ to listen, don't you—"

Liz set her jaw, incensed. "I thought we covered the fact that you don't get to 'Daddy' me, so stop scolding me like I'm—"

"—infuriating the way you believe this is all about you and don't take into account—"

"—just dismiss the idea that I _care_ about you and that what we did actually _meant_ something to me—"

Reddington's right hand was suddenly splayed across her collar bones, the pressure at the top of her sternum driving her back against the door. He brought his face close to hers, canted to one side, his eyes lidded. " _This_ ," Reddington whispered. " _This_ would have meant something. If you had kissed me…if you had let me—" He let out a harsh breath. "The fact that you refused a kiss, despite everything else you allowed—that you _asked_ for… _that's_ what gave it away." Liz tried in vain to control her breathing, but the inch of space between her mouth and his, the heat of his breath on her lips, the way his hand had immediately softened at her throat but remained gently wrapped around her neck had her practically panting. She was acutely aware of her lack of appropriate clothing and the fact that he was completely covered, pinning her to the door in his full complement of attire, hat included.

"You don't care about me," Reddington continued as if the statement were an instruction and not an observation, withdrawing his face slightly to look her in the eye. "You like to _think_ you do, but you don't, not really. You've lost everyone else in your life who you would normally get to show affection and concern for, and you've decided I'm 'damaged', which I admit, is horrifically accurate in _so many_ _more ways than you know_." Reddington's lips drew back in something close to a snarl, but his voice remained quiet and deep. "You found someone who you think needs fixing, and now that you have nothing else in your personal life, you're _bored_ , so you've decided you care. You don't."

"Reddington—"

" _You don't_ ," he repeated, his voice a growl.

Liz shook her head. "You just don't _want_ me to care," she fired back. "It's easier when it's just you, because you have control over those emotions. If I start to have any kind of feelings for you… that gets _messy_ , doesn't it?" Liz raised her eyebrows challengingly.

"You don't have feelings for me," Reddington corrected her, his voice losing some of it's power, his chest burning with a small amount of panic. He'd arrived at her motel intent on shutting their physical arrangement down in order to distance himself from further emotional compromise when it came to Elizabeth Keen, but he hadn't considered the possibility that their assignations had had a similar effect on _her_ —which was completely unacceptable based on the double standard he had clung to from the very start.

"You know a lot about me, Reddington, but you can't know exactly what's going on in my head," Liz warned. "You can't know exactly how I feel."

Liz reached up and gently caught the hand Reddington still held at her throat, dragging it down the length of her torso and arching into the man in front of her as she guided it around the side of her waist to the small of her back. She skimmed her palms up his chest and cupped both sides of his jaw, holding him still as she leaned in to whisper against his mouth, "And while the reverse is also true—I can't claim to know exactly what _you're_ feeling—" She paused to curl the fingers of one hand, gently running them along the soft skin just behind his ear before continuing, "—I think I'm able to make a pretty educated guess these days."

Reddington held very still, his eyes closed, his lips barely parted. Liz put a small amount of distance between them, pulling back just enough to focus her eyes on his face.

"You didn't come here to tell me I'd made the wrong choice. You came here because _you_ did." Her voice was quiet. "You care about me too much, and you can't distance yourself from our…more recent activities. You don't want to stop because you're concerned about _me_ : you want to stop because you're _terrified_ of what this is doing to _you_."

"Well… you certainly haven't lost your edge," Reddington murmured, his eyes still closed. "The recent increase in time out of the office and in the field hasn't dulled your abilities as a profiler _at all_ …" Reddington reached up and pulled Liz's hands from his face, and opened his eyes as he stepped back a pace before adding, "…Agent Keen."

Liz felt like a bucket of cold ice ran down her spine at the formal name, and the chill was immediately replaced by a furious warmth through her chest. Licking her lips, she launched herself forward, her eyes on his mouth, but his strong hands caught her upper arms and held her in place while he stepped back again. "Don't do that," he said, his voice agonizingly quiet. "The only reason for you to do that now is to try to win the argument." He shook his head, unable to look her in the eyes. "Don't use that as a weapon. I can't—" he stopped, mid-sentence, and winced. Shaking his head again, he abruptly dropped his hands. He raised his eyes to hers, and clenched his jaw. "Regardless of either of our motivations for it, we agree that our previous arrangement is done?"

"Who's refusing the kiss now, hmm?" Liz said in a low, accusatory voice.

Reddington stared at Liz for a moment longer before he said with a hollowness to his usually rich voice, "I'll see you on Monday morning, Agent Keen."

He side-stepped her and opened the door, and only faltered and paused for a half second at her cold, desperate accusation at his back.

" _Coward_."

He swallowed, stepped over the threshold, and pulled the door quickly closed behind him, leaving Liz alone again in the room.

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Sorry. Seriously, this was supposed to be the "kiss and make up" chapter, but it kind of got away from me. Sorry. Next chapter is the last one!


	5. Chapter 5

The Very Definition Of Complicated

Disclaimer: I do not own her, or him, or the show. I make no money from this.

Author's Note: Hestia and my gutterbugs keep me sane. Thank you all! #gutterbugs4life

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Chapter 5

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Liz paced.

She turned the television on.

She turned the television off.

She paced some more.

She updated a reimbursement requisition form she'd been putting off for days, and worked on the paperwork she'd brought home until she thought she would jump out of her own skin if she had to sit still a moment longer.

She went for a run to clear her head. It didn't help.

She took what was possibly the longest shower of her life, letting the hot water pour over her, lowering her chin to her chest and letting the dark curtain of hair surround her field of vision as the spray hit the back of her head. When the water turned cold, she stayed in the shower as long as she could stand it, until she was breathing hard, gasping deeply as the icy water hit her back and she shivered.

She toweled off and threw on clothes, and only as she picked up her keys did she realize she'd dressed completely—shoes included—as if she was intending to leave.

She tossed her keys back onto the table and sat down to take her shoes off, but before she'd even touched the laces, she growled a quiet, "Damn you, Reddington," and stood back up, snatching her keys from the table and heading out the door.

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Liz knocked on the door to the suite a second time, crossing her fingers that Reddington would answer, because she'd promised herself that if she got to three unanswered knocks, she'd take the hint and go home.

She didn't want to go home anymore, now that she'd found the courage to come upstairs.

She'd parked her car across the street from the hotel Reddington had been at all week, and stood outside in the worsening rain for a good ten minutes until she was completely soaked to the skin, alternately talking herself into and then back out of going upstairs to talk to him.

Eventually the devil on her shoulder won, and she flashed her badge at the concierge downstairs to get him to allow her access to his floor's private elevator.

Just as she raised her hand to try for the third time, she heard the locks, and the door swung open. Reddington studied her with a slightly annoyed but closed-off expression, and Liz felt the urge to look away as if admonished.

"I called you a coward earlier," she explained, her wet hair dripping down her neck. "I came here to apologize." Reddington continued to stare at her, but didn't respond. "May I come in?" Liz requested. After a long pause, Reddington dropped his eyes to the tile floor of the suite's entryway, and stepped back, opening the door wider to allow Liz to enter.

"I wasn't sure you'd still be here," she said, crossing the threshold and turning to face him as he closed the door behind her. "How many days have you been at this hotel? Over a week? You never stay in one place this long."

Reddington pursed his lips. "Call me sentimental, but… this week I grew suddenly fond of this particular dining table," Reddington said, throwing the lock on the door. "But you're right. It's time to…move on. I'll have Dembe make arrangements to leave tomorrow morning." Reddington turned to face her, taking in her soaking clothes and the wet mess of her hair. "You're making quite a puddle," Reddington observed, looking at the ground at Liz's feet. She gave a short, frustrated sigh and kicked out of her hastily-laced boots, peeling the fabric of her jacket away from herself and dropping it with a wet slap on the tile floor. Liz paused, tilted her head in a pointed challenge, and reached deliberately for the hem of her shirt. Reddington raised a hand, frowning. "You made your point," he said. "Let me get you a towel."

Liz followed him through the main room of the suite and into the bedroom. Reddington disappeared into the bathroom and emerged with an over-sized, freshly-folded white towel and held it out to her. She took it and wrapped her arms around it, pinning it, still folded, to her chest.

"I'm sorry," she offered, standing in the middle of the bedroom. "I shouldn't have called you a coward. I don't actually think…" She trailed off, and let her eyes wander from Reddington, unable to maintain eye contact while she admitted she'd been wrong, and rude. "I was just trying to hurt you. To… get a reaction."

"Why did you want to hurt me?" Red asked softly.

Liz looked back at him. "You hurt me first. I felt the need to… fight back."

Reddington's brow furrowed. "And just how did I hurt you?" he asked.

Liz rolled her eyes. "Really?"

Red raised his eyebrows, waiting silently for her response.

Liz sighed. "You let someone in, you trust them enough to be… intimate with them… and then without warning they tell you they don't want that anymore. It's not the greatest feeling in the world."

"I'm sure it's something similar to feeling like the woman you're with wishes she was currently with _anyone_ but you. The woman you _care about_."

Liz's mouth dropped open as if to retort, but no words came out.

"I thought I was strong enough to give her the physical things she asked for, and not get hung up on my own desire for… _actual_ intimacy," Reddington said pointedly, implying her use of the word earlier had been incorrect. "I failed at that." Reddington frowned again. "You said last time that you didn't want 'complicated'… But you and I… we are the _very definition_ of complicated."

"Well, let's get a bit less complicated," Liz responded matter-of-factly. "Things are actually starting to sound fairly simple. You said you care about me; I care about you. It seems like we're on the same page about that, at least."

"No," Reddington shook his head, correcting her. "You tell me you care about me, and then just weeks later you tell me you'd rather the extent of our relationship be meaningless sex. Do you see the contradiction here?" There was a hard edge to his voice, and Liz could tell she'd hurt him.

" _Has_ it been meaningless?" Liz asked, taking a step toward him. "I mean…you can call an apple an orange. Doesn't actually _make it_ an orange. Initially I asked for unemotional sex, you're right." Liz stepped closer again, lowering her voice. "Is that what we had, though?"

"When I asked you to meet me at the apartment the first night you…" Reddington stopped and rephrased. "I asked you what you wanted our relationship to be. Are you telling me you lied that night? Or have you changed your mind? Because I remember quite vividly what your decision was that evening. What is it that you want _now_? Be… specific."

"I want to know what your mouth feels like." Liz stared him down, unblinking.

"Not what I meant," he said, shaking his head. "What… _role_ do you want me to play in your life?"

"I want to know how you taste," she persisted.

"Lizzie, we need to _discuss_ this—" he started sternly.

"I want to _feel_ …not just _hear_ …when you groan…deep in the back of your throat as you kiss me." Liz reached for Reddington, and he stepped back, moving around her into the main room. He crossed to stand at the table, his back to Liz, facing the huge marble fireplace on the other wall. From the table in front of him, he grabbed a previously abandoned drink and took a long swallow. Liz didn't move, refusing to vacate her position just inside the ornate French doors that were swung open into the bedroom.

"I want to have to chase your lips when you pull away to gasp," she continued. "I want the heat of your breath in my mouth as you sigh my name—am I being _specific_ enough for you?" She wished she could see his face, but she could tell he was breathing quickly by the small movements of his shoulders and back.

"And that's just the kiss," she pressed, making it a personal goal to get him to turn around again and acknowledge her. "I also want to make you _pant_. I want to make your eyes roll closed and your jaw clench. These sheets in here?" Liz gestured behind her with an out-stretched arm, though neither of them turned to look at the bed. "I want your fingers to claw at them, desperately, your knuckles white. I said a minute ago I want to hear you sigh my name; I take that back. I want you to _growl_ it. I want it to roll off your tongue—" She pressed the tip of her tongue to the back of her front teeth and drew out her own name. "—' _Lizzie_ '. I want to bring you to the edge and keep you there for so long that you _beg_ my name—"

Reddington abruptly pulled his arm back and threw his glass with frightening power against the wide expanse of marble just over the fireplace. Liz broke off, and fell silent. Reddington leaned forward, a harsh, anguished sound dying in his mouth, and he bowed his head as both hands found the edge of the table, his shoulders and arms straining as he gripped the heavy wood. His face contracted into a silent grimace, his eyes closed.

Liz waited, not leaving the bedroom, wanting to give him a moment of space and silence, but if she was honest with herself, there was a small part of her that hoped she'd be able to calm him down enough that he'd eventually join her in there.

"I stopped counting," Reddington said after a long moment of silence, his voice barely audible. "How many deaths I've caused. At first I kept a running tally; I knew names. Every death I was responsible for, directly or otherwise. Then it became no names, just the number. Soon even that got too big, and I just kept track of those _I'd_ killed. Directly. _Myself._ With the pull of a trigger… or the blade of a knife… or my _hands_." Reddington cringed, and licked his lips before he continued, shaking his head. "I don't know what that number is at this point. I couldn't even guess; I stopped counting years ago.

"Most days it doesn't bother me anymore; I don't even think about it. Which I realize is telling; that's a problem in of itself, but… the days that I _do_ think about it… those usually occur because of you. You look at me a certain way, or…" Reddington tilted his head and scanned the spray of broken glass on the hearth in front of him. "…you say something that makes me think you might…" He trailed off, frowning. "I came back into your life to keep you safe." He paused, twisted to look at her, then went on with vehemence, " _I'm not safe._ * _This_ *," he indicated the two of them with a wave of one hand, "isn't safe. If you were to get _involved_ in some way with someone who, years ago, _lost track_ of their personal body count, I've failed to protect you. You deserve someone better than a killer and a criminal. And you were right: as much as I fought tooth and nail to drag you from the grip of your husband… I'm no better a man than he is."

The pair stood, staring at each other, unmoving. Another game of chicken. Who would blink first.

 _Screw it_ , Liz thought. _I'll just raise the stakes_. She looked around briefly, tossing the unused towel she was still holding onto a low, upholstered bench to her left. Without hesitation, she grabbed the hem of her wet shirt and dragged it up and over her head, tossing it to land atop the towel. She looked back at Reddington, whose face was a mask.

"Have you ever lied to me?" Liz asked, taking slow steps backward until her legs hit the edge of the large bed.

"No."

Liz nodded, unbuckling her belt, unbuttoning her jeans, and sliding them off quickly. They joined her shirt and the towel on the bench. Again she looked back at Reddington, whose eyes were no longer on her face.

"Have you ever hit me?"

Reddington didn't dignify her question with a response. Instead he raised his eyes to glare at her as if the thought was abhorrent.

"A simple yes or no will do," Liz prompted.

"No," he said, his face pinched as if the word tasted bitter.

Without taking her eyes from Reddington's, she sat on the edge of the bed and scooted backwards, stopping when she reached the middle. "I'd ask you some important Third Question, like whether or not I like pancakes, but I think your answers to the first two are enough to prove you're _nothing like Tom_." She wound her hands behind her back, her fingers finding the clasp of her bra.

Reddington took a step forward and stopped, holding out a hand. "Don't," he said sharply.

Liz's hands froze. "I think we've already taken our relationship past the point where we should be uncomfortable with nudity, Red," she said, slightly scolding. "And based on some of your stories, I doubt I'm the only woman who's ever tried to seduce you by stripping on your bed."

"Dammit, Lizzie—"

Liz unhooked the clasp and tossed the bra to one side, not watching where it landed, never taking her eyes off of Reddington.

A look close to anger passed over his features. "You want me to beg your name?" he said, his voice hardening. "Fine. Here it is. Lizzie, _please_ don't do this. I _know_ you understand why I can't continue this because you outlined it with _chilling_ accuracy this morning in your motel room—there's no sense in trying to deny it at this point—but the level of…. _emotional investment_ I have in you is so far beyond what you have for me, and now that you know... it's frankly _cruel_ of you to continue this. Like offering a poisoned treat to a dog. Don't tempt me with something that will ultimately end up—" Reddington broke off, shaking his head and looking away from her.

Liz lay down on her side across the foot of the bed, facing Reddington through the large doorway that still separated them. She propped her head up on one elbow, and modestly draped the other arm across her chest. "You're still operating under the assumption that what we've done means nothing to me," she said. "Let me explain something to you. I don't _do_ meaningless. I look for familiarity. I need a connection. You weren't just convenient. If anything you were terribly _inconvenient_. And yet I find myself still thinking about you. More and more often, and frankly it's been getting in the way. I managed to shut it out for six weeks the first time… How long after your kitchen did I come back for more? A little more than two weeks? The last time I was here I gave you a _truly flimsy_ excuse for my behavior. I realize that. I didn't want information. I just needed you to touch me again. And how long did we last this time? Five days. After you left this morning… I haven't been able to string two thoughts together all day until I walked back in this door."

"I don't lie to you, Lizzie, please do me the same courtesy and—"

"You're a smart guy, Reddington, and in the past you've seemed to have a pretty good handle on knowing when I'm lying, or at least keeping something from you." Liz rolled onto her back, her head still turned to the side to watch Reddington. "Come over here and see if you can't figure out that I'm telling you the truth right now. Why do you think I kept pulling away from you when you tried to kiss me? Did you honestly think I stopped you because I didn't want it? Because I wouldn't enjoy it? Did you ever stop to think that I had been saying no for the same reasons you did this morning?" Liz reached down and hooked her thumbs under the sides of her one remaining article of clothing, pushing the fabric down and raising her hips off the bed. She kicked her underwear to the floor, her eyes never leaving his. "I thought—mistakenly, apparently—that I could separate myself from 'just sex' and not have it affect me. But I was smart enough to realize I'd be in trouble _immediately_ if I let you kiss me."

Reddington looked desperately at the woman on his bed for a full minute before he began taking slow steps toward her, his expression still wary, as if his body had made a decision his mind was still panicked and suspicious about. When he finally arrived at the foot of the bed next to her, he locked his gaze on Liz's legs, unable or at least unwilling to look her in the eye. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out a hand and ghosted just his fingertips along the inside of her ankle. He was rewarded with a slight movement from her, an unconscious shift of her hips, her back arching a small amount as if she were trying to stay still despite every muscle in her body screaming at her to sit up and reach for him. He trailed his index finger up the inside of her calf, past her knee, and just as she shifted her legs wider, he traced a path laterally across her thigh and up to her hip, eliciting a frustrated sigh. His feather-light touch continued along the side of her abdomen, and she closed her eyes as he ran the back of his fingers along the outer swell of one breast, not pausing at all on his way up to her neck. When he traced the outline of her jaw and ran his thumb across the skin just behind her ear, she reached up and caught at his hand, opening her eyes.

Liz pushed herself up and knelt at the edge of the bed, pressing the length of her body against the length of his and winding her arms around his neck. He steadfastly kept his hands at his sides, and bit down on the noise that threatened to escape from the back of his throat as she raked her fingernails through his close-cropped hair, his eyes closing. He took a deep breath, and shook his head again. Liz tilted her head to one side and whispered against his lips, "Why are you fighting this…?"

After another long pause, Reddington's hands finally moved forward to find the woman in front of him, at first barely touching the outsides of her thighs, then smoothing slowly up over her hips to her waist as he let out a ragged breath.

Liz nodded approval, their noses touching briefly with the movement. She dropped her hands from his head to his chest and opened his vest, making quick work of the buttons on his shirt as well. She pushed the fabric back off of his shoulders, dragging it quickly but gently down his arms and tossing it behind him. She ran her palms back up the length of his arms and across his shoulders. When she reached scarred skin, Reddington grabbed her wrist to pull her hand away, leaning back slightly. Liz looked him in the eye evenly, and after a long moment she said, "They're nowhere near as bad as Ressler made them out to be." Pulling her hand from his grasp, she made it clear that was all she planned to say on the matter as she undid his belt and went to work on his trousers.

Reddington toed out of his shoes and moved back slightly to step out of the rest of his clothing. Liz was momentarily worried that he'd remain at arm's length, but he reached for her again immediately and stepped toward her to resume his earlier position, their bodies now pressed together with nothing to separate them.

Liz sighed and cupped his face, arching in to him as he ran his hands up her back, one tangling in her still-damp hair. "Kiss me," she pleaded against his lips.

Reddington was breathing hard. "I don't deserve this—"

" _Kiss me_ ," she demanded.

Reddington gave in with a growl, his lips landing on hers as he pushed her backwards, and after a brief, desperate struggle for positioning which could have been avoided if either of them had been willing to break their kiss, he was settled between her legs and pushed into her, his mouth leaving hers with a gasp. Liz pulled his head back down again immediately, missing the feel of his lips on hers for the second they were apart, and she wound her legs around him, digging her heels in to urge him closer.

After several painful collisions of teeth and noses as he thrust above her, Reddington pulled back and buried his face in her neck, kissing the skin at her throat, teasing her earlobe with his teeth.

Liz let out a moan, her head tilting back into the mattress, and Reddington felt like someone had reached into his chest, grabbed his heart, and squeezed. He pressed his cheek to hers and murmured in her ear, "I _knew_ you weren't usually the silent type."

"You're right—I'm not—" she gasped, flexing her hips against the sensations and gripping Reddington's shoulders, delighting in the feel of the muscles under his skin as he held himself above her. "And as long as we're admitting things, I should tell you that I've wanted you for _months_ … every time we sat in the back of a car together… every time you licked your lips— _God_ , your mouth—" Liz broke off as Reddington reached down to grab one of her legs, lifting it higher. "You can't _imagine_ the fantasies I had about your tongue after watching you smoke a cigar the first time, but if I'm being honest? My favorite daydream is about what I could do to you if I had you alone in the Box at the Post Office. Shackled down like the first day we met there. How I could torture you… how I could tease you… the sounds I could get you to make as you begged me…" Liz's words turned into a short cry as one of Reddington's hands found her breast. "It's actually a pity you weren't wearing a tie earlier, because this headboard looks sturdy enough to—"

"Lizzie, shut up—" Reddington ground out.

"I thought you didn't want me to be quie—"

Reddington clamped his hand over her mouth, growling, "I'm enjoying this, and would prefer it _last_ awhile, which it _won't_ if you keep up with that kind of talk…"

Liz rolled her head to the side, freeing her mouth from under his palm. "So let's make this one 'hard and quick', and we can take the next few tonight… _maddeningly… slow_ …" she moaned the words, raking her nails gently up his back and leaning up to scrape at his neck with her teeth.

Reddington swore under his breath and grabbed a handful of the bed linens, clenching his fingers into a fist as he strained and buried himself in Liz a final time. His breaths came harsh and fast as the muscles in his shoulders and arms flexed, and only when she heard her name— " _Lizzie_ —" —rasped out halfway between a groan and a plea, did Liz follow him, shaking and tightening around him as she cried out, her arms wound around his neck.

As their breathing slowed, Reddington gradually became aware of Liz slowly running her hands over him: across his shoulders, down his arms, over the back of his head, down his side. She pushed back on his chest slightly, and he withdrew his face from the crook of her neck. She cupped the side of his face, and tilted her head up to kiss his cheek, the corner of his mouth, his jaw, below his ear, the still-pounding pulse in his neck, his collarbone.

Finally, Reddington pushed off of her and moved to her side, propped up on one elbow. He gazed down at her, a note of humor in his expression. "In the Box? Really?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.

Liz gave a coy smile and shrugged. "I'm sure _you've_ had some unrealistic fantasies about _me_ since we started working together." She leaned up and gently bit his bottom lip. "And since I think we just agreed to a second round—and possibly a third?—it sounds like we've got all night to discuss them." Liz rolled onto her side, bracing her head on her hand, her elbow supporting her in a mirror image of Reddington's position. She grinned. "Now, I've admitted one of _mine_ … I'd _love_ to hear about one of _yours_ …?"

.|.|.|.

...aaaaaand that's all she wrote, folks. Hope I wrapped things up in a manner you approve of! :) Thanks again to Hestia, who acted like a lawyer/priest/doctor during the writing of this beast, and listened to all my worries and read my attempts and kept the seal of the confessional tight. You rock. :)

Also: As a nice bookend to this story, since jadenanne7 was the inspiration for the beginning of this fic, it's only appropriate that she turn up at the end, too… If you want to read a (entirely separate) super sexy series of Reddington fantasies about Liz, starting from the very first episode, you should check out her story "Delusions of a Grander Sort". I've had some people tell me I need to write a follow up to this one, detailing the fantasies Red tells Liz he's had about her, but there's NO WAY I would write them better than jadenanne7; I can't recommend hers highly enough! It's PERFECTION. Go read it. You won't be sorry. :)


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